


Where There's Tea, There's Hope

by colazitron



Series: Isak and Even's Adventures in Cohabitation [3]
Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 16:17:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11062587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colazitron/pseuds/colazitron
Summary: Isak knows how to boil water, he promises. He understands the basic concepts of physics, okay?





	Where There's Tea, There's Hope

**Author's Note:**

  * For [imminentinertia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imminentinertia/gifts).



> **Disclaimer:** I am in no way affiliated with the characters depicted herein or their creators. I made all of this up in my head and am sharing it purely for entertainment purposes.
> 
>  **A/N:** Come _on_ , Julie, _surely_ Isak understands how to boil water. I refuse to believe he's never made pasta in the year he's lived by himself and lived off of cold food and whatever Eskild may or may not have shared with him. I just refuse.

Isak is relatively certain that his brain has started leaking out of his ears. Metaphorically, at least.

It'd make a cool stop-motion shot, he supposes. Plasticine brain leaking out of a tiny Wallace-and-Gromit-style Isak's head. The fact that he's thinking about it like that is also probably a sign that Even's relaxation attempts and his own study-anxiety are about to birth terrifying thought-babies in his head so he should probably… stop. He's refilled his water glass about three times in the last hour, so he'll probably have to pee really badly once he starts relaxing though, and he can't quite be bothered to get up. It's a bit more of a dilemma than it probably should be.

Even heaves a deep sigh from where he's propped up against the wall at the head of their bed, laptop on his knees. He's typing up some sort of essay for Norwegian class, Isak thinks, and removed himself to the bed a while ago, claiming Isak's study-aura was too intense for them to share a table. Isak sort of believes him. He can get quite in the zone once he gets going.

“Hm?” Isak asks, looking up and over at him.

Even pulls a truly pitiful grimace.

“I hate every decision that has led to this specific piece of homework,” he says.

Isak can't help the fond smile, and how it widens when Even reciprocates it. Surely the honeymoon phase should be over by now, especially given their less than smooth start, but. So far? Still happy squirmy butterflies when Even smiles at him or kisses him or touches him or breathes in his general vicinity. It'd be a lot more embarrassing if it weren't so obviously mutual.

(Not that there haven't been a fair few tiffs, especially since they moved in together, but in the grand scheme of things they're still about 70% obnoxiously sappy. According to Mahdi, that is. There was a graph and everything.)

Even puts a hand over his stomach and pulls a face that Isak interprets to mean “shit I forgot dinner was a thing we'd need, especially given that we kinda skipped lunch”. If only because that's a thing his own stomach is currently reminding him of.

“We still have that glass of bolognese sauce, right?” Even asks, and gets up without waiting for Isak's nod.

“I'll make us some pasta,” he announces and lets Isak catch his wrist as he passes the table on his way to the kitchen. Isak presses a kiss to the back of his hand, looking up at Even while he does it, and Even smiles that absolutely besotted smile of his before he bends down to kiss Isak on the lips.

“Thanks,” Isak says quietly, and squeezes Even's hand before letting him pull away.

Pasta won't take longer than twenty minutes, so maybe Isak should just power through until Even's done. Isak's bladder isn't particularly happy about that, but he's close to the end of this chapter, and he's pretty sure there's a mistake in the notes Sana had blessedly left for him and he knows it's going to bug him until he's confirmed it. He's been studying for this stupid mock exam all weekend, but he knows himself. He'll feel unprepared unless he's crammed literally every last comma into his memory. He knows himself well enough that if he stopped studying now he'd probably get a five. A four at least. But he _can_ get a six, and Isak's not in the habit of settling for less than he can have. See also his smoking hot boyfriend and nice, if tiny, apartment. Which he shares with said delicious boyfriend.

So he takes a deep breath and bends down over the book again, finding his place in the paragraph he'd just been reading.

Then Even's phone rings.

“Hi, Mamma,” Isak hears him say and smiles a bit to himself.

Even's mother has been checking up on them at least twice a week, and while Isak thinks it's sweet and a little amusing, he knows Even's getting increasingly frustrated. The check-ups are probably to do with the fact that it had been sort of clear when Isak's pappa had signed the contract on his behalf that he didn't intend to check up on them all that often. Isak's fine with that. He's on far better terms with his parents now than he was half a year ago, and if Pappa started behaving like he didn't trust Isak to live on his own now, a good year after he left home, it'd probably be a little ridiculous. But he gets what that looks like from the outside – a parent who seems unbothered by the fact that their child basically ran away from home at sixteen and is moving in with their boyfriend of half a year at not-yet eighteen instead of coming home. Isak's pretty sure Silje is overcompensating in response.

“Yes, I-- of _course_ I did, Mamma,” Even says. The frustration is obvious in Even's voice, so Isak caps his marker pen, closes the book over it and gets up, joining Even in the kitchen.

He's stood there with his phone pressed up against his ear, frowning at the open kitchen cabinet, pack of pasta in his hand. When Isak steps into the room, he looks over at him, and his shoulders sag. Isak bites back a grin, but judging by the pull in his cheeks and the pout Even gives him he's not quite successful. So instead he gently takes the pasta from Even's hand and brushes a kiss over the back of his shoulder before gently pushing him out of the kitchen.

“Mamma, _please--_ ” Even says while he rounds the corner. Two heartbeats later Isak hears him open the balcony door and allows his shoulders to shake with silent laughter.

Mind still occupied with biology, and trying to gauge Even's level of frustration by the way he says “mhm, yeah, sure” in short intervals, he gets the bigger of their two pots out of the drawer and fills it with water. The back right cooker, which would be the right size for the pot, still doesn't work (probably what Silje called to inquire about), so Isak sets it down on the slightly smaller one next to it and starts his search for the lid. How they manage to misplace things in a kitchen as tiny is this one is beyond him, but it keeps happening anyway. Having found it, he puts it on the pot and brings out his own phone in favour of staring down at the water and waiting for it to boil.

There's nothing much of interest on instagram or facebook on a Sunday evening though, and Even's  _still_ on the phone with his mother when Isak glances up to check on the water. His eyes catch on the two boxes of tea Even leaves out on the counter, and maybe he should make Even some. He'll appreciate it, and Isak's already boiling water for the pasta anyway, so---

oh, fucking hell. Motherf---

Isak's entire brain screeches to a halt and he feels his cheeks run hot with redness  as he stares at the two innocuous cardboard boxes.

_Obviously that's how you make tea without an electric kettle, you idiot_ .

The memory of Sana's look of disbelieving almost-disgust feels like a brand of shame, and Isak buries his face in his hands, the phone screen cool against his cheek. He swears he understands the basic concepts of physics, but he's just-- they had an electric kettle at home, okay? And at the flatshare too. He's never thought about tea as anything other than a combination of teabag and hot water from a kettle, it was a momentary lapse of judgement!  Jesus Christ.

There's getting a biology question wrong, and then there's… this.

Taking a deep breath and shaking the embarrassment off, Isak grabs two cups and two bags of apple-cinnamon tea. He ladles the hot water into the cups because he can't find the dish rag – seriously, how do they keep misplacing things? – and the handles of that pot get hot, and then snaps a photo to send to Sana. She's going to keep reminding him of this failure anyway, he might as well own up to it.

  


** Sanasol **

Guess who finally remembered how to boil water?

Proud of you, Isabell. I knew you could do it.

  


He puts his phone back down, pours pasta and salt into the remaining boiling water, stirs twice, and then turns down the heat, because he's not completely helpless, okay?

Fine, Noora showed him how to avoid the pasta sticking to the base of the pot in the half year they lived together at Eskild's, but it's not Isak's fault no one ever taught him how to cook. It's maybe Isak's fault that he never asked to be taught, but truth be told it just wasn't ever high on his list of priorities.  Even's more than willing to teach him what he knows, at least, even if that means Isak's going to master breakfast before anything else, seeing as breakfast is easily Even's favourite meal of the day. And while that's not the entire extent of Even's culinary abilities, Isak has the sneaking suspicion that's because Even wanted to be able to make English breakfasts, and American breakfasts, and all sorts of breakfasts that require a lot more actual cooking than the bowl of cereal or bread Isak would have gone with.

The other day Even had gotten ambitious and insisted they try to make a lasagna. It tasted alright, to be fair, even if the béchamel sauce had tiny clumps of flour in it, they had to eat it straight out of the dish because it was falling apart so much, and the pasta wasn't entirely cooked through even though the top layer was… quite crunchy and possibly a little blacker than intended. They'll figure it out. Until then at least Isak remembered how to boil water for some tea, fucking hell.

“Thanks for taking over,” Even says as he steps back into the kitchen, wrapping his arms around Isak's waist and pulling him back against his chest so he can lean his forehead against Isak's shoulder.

“There, there,” Isak says, a little too much amusement in his voice, judging by how Even whines and squeezes at his waist.

“I'm twenty years old, she should trust me to be able to make a fucking phone call,” Even complains, his voice muffled.

“Her baby moved out,” Isak says. “She's just getting used to it.”

Even sighs and then looks up, propping his chin on Isak's shoulder instead and pressing a kiss to his temple.

(Mahdi was probably right about those 70%.)

“Oh, you made tea,” Even says. “Thanks.”

“Yep, I did,” Isak says and pulls out of Even's embrace to fish the teabags out of their cups.

Even checks on the pasta, and then goes to get the dish rag from the other room. Right, yeah, Even had wiped off the table earlier. Isak steps aside to let him strain the pasta, grabbing the glass of sauce from the cupboard and two plates for them. They move around each other with practised ease already, so even though adulthood keeps surprising Isak in a myriad of ways what feels like every day, he thinks they're gonna be just fine. He doesn't have to do it alone anymore at least, and that's got to count for something.

  


** The End **

**Author's Note:**

> If you have any domestic things you want me to write about Isak and Even tackling, drop me a line [in my tumblr ask box](http://fille-lioncelle.tumblr.com/ask) and I'll give it a go!
> 
> Thoughts, comments etc to be left below, please. ;)


End file.
